Mine, Forever
by SoBeRgAMzEe
Summary: Jeff the Killer love story.


Mine Forever. (Jeff the Killer)

I think there's something dead. It smells like blood, hell, it tastes like blood when I wake up. The pungent odor brought me back to where I was before the dark invaded, pushing me to the cold, hard linoleum flooring who's aching lingered even as I stood wearily. I'm in the bathroom; slitting my wrists as I usually do on nights like these. When something unexplainable happens and for hours sinking feeling takes hold; not letting go for one moment, not even to let me think rationally. There's always a desperate want for bloodshed in my mind. Something mesmerizing and wonderful as self destruction. I didn't dare step outside the door, though, not even to check what time it was. I knew what time is was. The blood wasn't even completely dry yet. I probably blacked out for ten minutes, which means it's 4:50am and no one is awake.  
I sift through the white, splintering bathroom drawer to find a lighter and a pack, pulling out a delicate white stick and putting it between my desperately raw lips, an orange flicker leading creamy, white smoke signals. My bleeding, chapped arm reached down to open the vent, trying to indulge as much as I could with my arm stinging from the tightening skin being stretched uncomfortably. I love cigarettes, and after one is down to burning the tips of my fingers all I feel like doing is laying down. Of course, I had things to do. Couldn't risk a motherfucking infection. And even though I anticipated the pain, it still stung terribly as water invaded my inflamed wounds. Still, there's no way I'm risking my parents discovering my 213 reminders of my terrible guilty pleasure. Cutting was one sweet taste of indulgence, but I couldn't even fathom what they would do with me. Mark me off as another suicidal teenager though t's so much more than that. I can't even go a day without another slit to the wrist, and what does that make me? A motherfucking pansy. Boo Fucking doo, babe. You're not the only one who's life is a piece of shit. Maybe there was something wrong with me; But hell, depression aint no worthy cause. I'm not suicidal as much as I just love being reminded on how easy it is to destroy yourself and others. Homicidal, maybe, yet I'd never gotten past the doorway with the meat carver to be just sure. The suicidal phase mostly passed when I turned 13, and it would just be another teen suicide instead of a child taking their life. For so long, I just wanted to prove to people you can't just treat people the way they tried to treat me. But now I might as well just show them what happens. Maybe if I had stomped just a little harder on that kids neck with my ice skates, I would know the answer to the defining question. To be the villain, or not to be? Maybe it wasn't my decision. Maybe that feeling that swells up inside me simply because I hesitate to do the do won't lead to another night of blood flowing from my wrists, but instead, a sweet touch of revenge.  
I was almost too occupied trying to get bandages to adhere to my wrists to notice when the doorknob had slowly been turning.  
"Fuck," I muttered when the door began to open. The butt of the cigarette burned out against the counter and I flicked it into the bin. Other than that, all there was to get rid of was the blood. But what I saw at the other end of the doorway was not what I had expected, and if I had had the inclination to jump behind the curtain, maybe I wouldn't have been almost killed at that moment. His knife was raised past his shoulder, but his arm shuddered down to his side once he saw the blood. His face was a leathery looking white, terribly red, blistered lips. His eyes where shadowed by tattered remains of eyelids, darkened and frayed, burned flesh. What was most amazing, was his smile. From ear to ear, crusted, raw skin was torn from the tips of his smile. It fit his demeanor perfectly. And it was fucking cool. The skin was torn and ripped at the ends, a bloody mess of shadow and shiny ripped gums. You could see where his dentistry line ended, where it was just muscle no longer brushing teeth. His hair was wild, inky and greasy yet amazingly rough looking at tattered. Blood was smeared up the side of his face and his white sweater was drenched in it.  
"Hm." That was all he said before turning and thumping down the hallway. When I peeked my head out to look, the window was wide open, curtains billowing in the light breeze.  
After every thing was clean and bleached, I removed my pants and underwear, slipping my bra off and putting on boxers. Fucking airy.  
I slipped under the covers. Why wasn't I.. afraid? That.. thing fit the profile of a psycho killer. Whatever it was, it was definitely a teen, maybe a kid. Someone swept away by the retrace of life way too young.  
Someone just like me. And in fucking hindsight, I should've proposed right on the spot.  
If he came back, it would be easy to keep him. The bad people are the ones who are easy. They welcome you. They are always there. They understand you. It's great. Until they're not so nice anymore.  
But him? He was pure evil.

The next night he showed up again. I'm glad I woke up when the breeze from the open window hit me, so I had the opportunity to watch him heave himself through. Maybe he was trying to scare me. And hell, it was almost working after twenty minutes of his face hovering above my "sleeping" one. Finally, he nudged my cheek. When I didn't budge to move, he caressed my cheek. Must have been a long time since he's held human flesh that wasn't drenched in blood. His breath chilled my neck as he brought his lips there, trying to leave a small kiss, yet only leaving a wet, smudge of blood. That's when I opened my eyes.  
"Go to sleep.." I whispered. He snapped up and looked at me, bewildered.  
"That's my line," He choked in a voice that hadn't met air in a long, long time.  
"Oh," I giggled.  
"Why aren't you afraid of me?"  
"Why would I be afraid of such a beautiful thing?"  
His breath hitched and his eyes dotted back and forth, then, he was gone.

"Go to sleep." I heard from out the window, and presently closed my eyes.

When I awoke, my lips and neck where crusted in blood. Not my own, though, the one that dripped from Jeff's mischievous grin. I almost couldn't wait until night time. He was gorgeous.

"What's your name?" I asked as soon as he climbed in through the window. I had been waiting in the dark, the sharp point of a hunting knife twirling against the pad of my fingers.  
"Jeff," He said slowly. I could tell he didn't know why he kept coming back. Especially to a girl like me. Large breasted and thighed, otherwise petite and tiny. Disporportionate was all I was.

The sinking on the other end of the mattress startled me. He looked at me cautiously, lifting his legs to join his body on the other end of my bed. "And yours?" He asked, keeping eye contact with me.

"Anthony," I said, watching him. He looked like he wasn't moving or breathing, and he sure as hell wasn't blinking, he couldn't blink. His eyes where extremely dark and red, veiny, they never saw rest.  
"Anthony? Isn't that a guys na-"  
"Yeah. They wanted a guy." He nodded at my response. I realized he was unarmed, unlike the two night before. I tossed my tiny blade across the room to the round chair in the opposing corner of my room. Jeff flinched. At least he fucking moved.

"Why do you hurt yourself?" He said, and in one extremely quick motion he grasped my wrist. I struggled slightly, wincing as he pealed up my sleeve. "It truly looks nice."  
"Exactly," I agreed.  
"Get the knife.." He said, eyes glancing over to the chair. I groaned under my breath and went to find it. Seducing a psycho isn't as easy as I might have thought.  
When I returned to the bed, the knife was in Jeffs hands before I could offer. He grabbed it and quickly sliced a rut in his already puckered, scarred hand. "Can I do yours?" He asked. I nodded. He softly grabbed my hand in his, slicing down the middle of my palm and catching it with his bleeding wound. "Binded by blood," he smirked. "You're mine, Anthony."  
I don't know why I wasn't the least bit afraid.

The next night, I actually fell asleep. I wasn't awake until his actual frame was on mine, one knee between my legs. He was propped up on his arms, staring down at me, hair brushing my neck. "You're mine," he chuckled when I opened my eyes.  
"Hey Jeff." I whispered, smiling up at him.  
"You have such a beautiful smile…" he said, looking down at me.  
"I prefer yours. It's more… everlasting." I chuckled. He went down on one elbo, one leg slung lazily across me.  
"Anthony?" he asked.  
"Yes?" I smiled, looking up.  
"Can I…" I cut him off, giggling,  
"Anything but kill me, love."  
He smiled and suddenly, his lips where on mine, the taste of blood slowly leaking into my mouth.  
"We should go outside," He said. "You can get a taste of fun."  
I nodded frantically, immediately lifting out of bed and walking to the closet. I stripped down to my underwear, putting on my "Fuck You" tank top and black, jean shorts.  
"Good killing clothes?" I asked and turned on my heel. Jeff nodded. I walked up to the window and hoisted myself out quickly. "Bring the knife!" I whispered to him. He smiled and hopped out, knife glinting in the moonlight.  
"Which house should we hit first?" He asked.  
"Well, not one on this street. Let's go down to Woolmans, those fuckers are assholes. Let's teach them not to mess with weird kids." I said, winking and taking off in a sprint.

Jeff was right behind me as I hoisted up the window. My heart was racing, fuck, I could feel my blood boil in my ears, pulsing rhythmically, tauntingly, but there was so much fucking adrenaline I couldn't stop.  
I didn't give the girl a chance to wake up before I slit her throat. There was no scream, there was just blood, and the violent hunger that ate my sanity was finally full. Jeff walked up behind me, "Woah."  
I chuckled.  
"Who are we gonna hit next, jeff, Who we gone hit next?" The words flow out of my mouth. He looked at me, anger leaking across his face. Suddenly he's yelling. Lashing out. Something was wrong with him. I grabbed him by the hips and kissed his yelling mouth deeply, hopping out the window before the parents footsteps reached the door. Jeff, once again, was right behind me. He didn't follow me home that night.

The next day, I awoke to a note pasted to my window.  
It read, "I'm so sorry." I smiled as I peeled it off. He fancies me, doesn't he..  
A sharp, stinging, warm sensation flooded me as a blade slit across my neck, quickly from behind.

"I'm so sorry…" was the last thing I heard, before everything went black and silent.


End file.
